


A moment of peace

by elyhumanoid



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, horse riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 15:06:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5932719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elyhumanoid/pseuds/elyhumanoid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days after the Inquisition allied with the Mages, the Herald of Andraste finally decides to go horse riding, so she can enjoy the snowy landscape of Haven. This turns out to be a good chance to spend some quality time with Commander Rutherford.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "A moment of peace" is the first Dragon Age-related fanfiction I've ever completed and the first story I publish after many years. It was inspired by the reaction Cullen has when the Inquisitor decides to ally with the Mages.
> 
> This story was originally written in Italian and then translated into English. Thank you very very much to [Eravalefantasy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Eravalefantasy/pseuds/Eravalefantasy) for correcting the text! Also, thank you to my best friend (known as Lehira here on AO3) who always supports me. She encouraged me to start writing again.  
> Edit: Chapter updated with some more edits made by [Darkbloodedsweetie](http://darkbloodedsweetie.tumblr.com/) (tumblr)!

“Andraste’s tits, it’s _freezing_ here!”  
The groom curled up in his washed-out wool cloak, frowning. His jaw clenched from the biting cold.

“We’re at Haven, Master Dennet. I’m sure you’ll get used to the frigid temperature soon.” The Seeker’s flat voice was covered almost completely by the clamour of swords and clashing shields of training soldiers. The sixty-year-old man grumbled something unintelligible and grabbed a shovel placed against the wooden enclosure.

“Of course. But it’s not the cold that worries me. Actually, I’m more concerned about the health of my horses. That’s why I joined the Inquisition, after all.”

He began to shovel the snow that had accumulated at the entrance of the whitened fence.  
“Speaking of which, yesterday the youngest stallion attempted to buck more than once. It is curious that Commander Cullen was the only one who managed to calm him down” Cassandra said, crossing her arms to her chest.

“Altares? In truth, that doesn’t surprise me. A Fereldan Folder chooses his rider on his own.” The man’s tone was slightly forced by the strain of shoveling.

The warrior nodded, the eyebrows raised. She sighed. “I see. Lady Trevelyan wishes to follow an intensive equestrian training. Since mages aren’t allowed out of the Tower, they can’t ride…”

At that moment, the massive doorway of the Chantry walls opened with a squeak, distracting the two for an instant. The horse master straightened up, pointing the tool into the snowy ground. He squinted to focus the figure walking towards the stable.

_The Herald of Andraste._

That name was so high-sounding, so imposing; to some she was terrifying, to others just a colossal lie. But who was she, truly? Evelyn Trevelyan’s life had totally changed in less than two months: from a model student of the Circle of Ostwick, to a member of heretic delegates; from a criminal, unfairly indicted on murder, to an emissary of Andraste in person.

And then, that fateful question: “Have you _really_ been sent by the Maker’s bride?”. Whatever her answer was, it would have been criticized, of course. What appeared as a gift on one hand sounded like condemnation on the other. The Mark compelled her to carry a responsibility bigger than she could imagine. The fate of half of Thedas depended on her.

Evelyn didn’t know what her eyes saw; in her heart, she knew she hadn’t been chosen. It was an absurdity. The Maker had abandoned the world, right? The successes of the Inquisition had been a result of sweat and tears of many men – it was impossible to deny the evidence – and luck played its role too. But what she called “luck” was nothing but divine providence for others.

With bitterness, she realized she was losing _faith_. If only she managed to remember what occurred at the Conclave…

What was done was done. Hopefully, the alliance with the mages would prove useful to seal the Breach. She had to choose and she did it without wasting time. Not everyone agreed with that choice: between the various agents, Cullen was the most adamant, maybe because of his past as a Templar. Regardless, _the ends justify the means… right?_

The breach in the sky was the real threat, and to seal it magic was needed.  
A compromise must be made.  
The refugees, scattered through the square, followed her with their eyes – some were curious, others were respectful and grateful. She was getting used to feeling judged, but she didn’t really know how to act. Nevertheless, she gave the best of herself and hardly got thanked.  
It was war… she had to deal with that.

That afternoon Trevelyan just wished she could feel like a twenty-eight-year-old girl. However, in all that chaos, there was something positive: the mage’s rebellion forced her out of the Tower. She was finally able to see the world and now, after the first small victory, she took a breath and enjoyed her freedom. She would take the opportunity to go for a horse ride, in hopes of clearing her mind a bit and relax.

Evelyn greeted Krem and The Iron Bull with a wave of her hand, smiling politely, before approaching Dennet and Lady Pentaghast.

“Perfect timing, milady. We were just talking about you.” The man bowed slightly.

“I am the most discussed topic, lately” the fair-haired woman said, almost murmuring. Her expression was veiled by an unusual rigidity, which clashed on her face.

“We weren’t talking about politics, if that is your concern.” The Seeker gave her a light pat on the back to reassure her.

The girl nodded vaguely. “No problem. I don’t intend to interrupt you. I just need a horse” she uttered, heading to the canopy. Evelyn smiled to herself: she proposed the construction. Cullen’s soldiers worked quickly and set up numerous boxes for the stalls and reinforced the shelters for the animals, which before was almost nonexistent. It was a great investment.

“No worries, I was about to return to my training. Excuse me” Cassandra said, taking her leave.

The farmer shrugged and started to shovel the snow again. Then he stopped, hesitant.  
“You’ll do it yourself?” he asked.

They exchanged a look of mutual understanding. The young lady had previously asked Dennet to teach her how to treat a horse. Although she had only been out a few times, she felt confident in her abilities.  
She nodded, giving a hint of a smile. “I think I can handle this, thank you.”

“Last time you did a good work with Calypso. I am here if you need me. Maker bless you” the man answered, and went back to work.

The mage continued her walk analyzing the numerous charges resting in the stable. A marvelous dark stallion drew her attention: Altares, the Commander’s half blood. The woman stopped before the animal, who noticed the newcomer and raised his big muzzle with curiosity. Evelyn looked into his eyes for a moment; they were dark and deep. She guessed Cullen knew horses very well and that he chose wisely… or it was the horse that chose wisely. It depended on the point of view.

Of course she wouldn’t have dared to ride that mount, even if she really wanted to. One horse could be used by more than one soldier if necessary, but she didn’t feel like choosing exactly that particular mount – above all without asking the person concerned, even only for sheer formality.

The last box hosted Calypso, a female Taslin Strider: the race was usually bred in Antiva, where the climate was certainly warmer than the Fereldan one. Haven wasn’t the best place for the creature to live, but it seemed she wasn’t suffering from the cold that much.

“Hey,” Evelyn called her with tenderness and she raised her head, approaching the dark wooden small gate. The mage reached out, very slowly, to the big furred muzzle. After some hesitation, the mare sniffed at the hands and let the woman caress her with love. She was a shy creature, but willful and, above all, very loyal.

“Would you come for a ride?” Trevelyan murmured with a calm voice. The mare turned her head, batting her eyelids. The Herald was excited. Her hands and legs trembled a bit and she wondered if the Strider understood her intentions somehow. Maybe she was already used to such behaviours. Evelyn shrugged.

“Let’s try.”

She gathered her thoughts, and she propped her staff against the nearest wall. She opened the little gate and tied the horse to a post and looked at the tools hung on the wall. She did not recall the use of some of them, and it was bothersome to her. She eyed the currycomb and the brush, using the first and then the second with gentleness.

“From top to bottom…” she murmured, keeping Dennet’s teachings in mind. The mare was motionless and quiet, moving her ears every now and again. The grooming process raised some dust that made her sneeze.

_“Bless you!”_

A familiar voice, warm and deep, surprised her. She turned around, paralyzed for a few seconds. A rebel lock of light blonde hair fell over her forehead. Commander Rutherford was leaning against the entrance of sheltered aisle, arms folded. The mage felt immediately a sense of strange embarrassment together with guilt; in her mind, the images of the last meeting at the war table emerged, resulting in more annoying than expected. Cullen hadn’t liked the alliance with the mages. He had told her it was madness, and they couldn’t be trusted. His generalization had irritated her at first, since magic coursed through her own veins.

Cassandra disagreed with the alliance, but she supported her. Still, the blond-haired man made a good impression on her; she was sure he was a good man and that he didn’t have bad intentions. All those responsibilities had filled her head with strange ideas and she didn’t want that to compromise her judgment as well. She knew he once was a Templar.

Maybe difficult experiences when he served under some Circle? Every time magic was mentioned, the man hardened, clenching his fist on the knob of his sword irritably. Evelyn did not understand why she felt so much remorse for him. She looked at him and perceived a veil of sadness, or fear perhaps, in his amber eyes. Somehow she knew she didn’t want to fail him… she was only trying to please everyone, to bring peace. Easier said than done.

Evelyn stared at him. How long had he been there? She didn’t expect to meet him in the stables, and she certainly had not heard him enter. He wasn’t wearing the usual fur coat, but a red cloak with a strong and finely decorated armor.

“C-Commander… _thank you_.” She straightened up, blowing laterally to move the blonde lock away from her eyes, without success.

_He smiled._

The ex-templar didn’t usually smile, but when he did, he was… handsome. Actually he was always handsome – she admitted to herself, blushing slightly.

“Allow me to help you” he offered, courteously.

The twenty-eight-year-old girl felt strangely embarrassed, but she didn’t want to refuse. She attempted to smile back and to act naturally. But it was something that always turned out to be difficult to do, as the Commander was around. Once again, she couldn’t explain the reason of her reactions.  
“Alright” she answered, with a shy smile.

Cullen stopped in front of Altares’ box first. He caressed the neck of the horse, whispering. She stole a glance at him; watching him communicating that way with his steed showed her a part of him she had not seen yet, the _sensitive_ part of him. 

“He’s a marvelous horse. He’s… lucky to have a rider like you.” She blurted out the flatteries without control, attempting to fill the silence between them. He turned around just when she looked away and started brushing Calypso again. The man gave a little pat on his personal horse’s neck. “He is.”

He gave her a look, between shyness and amusement, for the compliment he had just received. “Thank you, Herald.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Evelyn.” Her voice was a little more than a murmur and her cheekbones, delightfully enriched by some freckles, went slightly red. “You can call me Evelyn.”

Her heart beat faster and their eyes locked; Cullen’s mouth, slightly open, hesitated to answer. Was she embarrassing him too? Josephine, Leliana and above all Cassandra had already broken through the wall of formality, during private meetings. She wished it could be the same with Cullen… After all, the woman herself called him by name, sometimes. She didn’t want her nearest companions to see her as the powerful, dreadful and divine Herald of Andraste.

“Alright, Evelyn.” His lips curved in a half smile. The girl mentally sighed of relief. Hearing him call her by name was… pleasant. Oh. What was she thinking?

“Master Dennet taught you?” he asked, crossing the rope that divided them. The mage nodded; they were so close now, that she could smell him. His scent, elder and moss, mixed with her delicate jasmine aroma. When his fragrance reached her brain, she shivered. They had never been _so_ close. 

He took the saddle cover and placed it on the mare’s back, following the direction of her fur, so that it sat just behind the withers. 

“It will be useful for you during your expeditions” he commented, while spreading the padded grey cover out. His voice vibrated in her ears. She could spend hours listening to him.

“I hope I’ll learn as much as possible” she said, and she turned around and chose a Fereldan saddle type. For her it was the most comfortable. She held the horn and the cantle firmly, so as not to cause the quite heavy object to fall down, due to her carelessness. The ex-Templar guided Trevelyan’s hands with his. Both wore gloves – his were made of dark leather, hers light. For a moment, Evelyn wished she hadn’t worn them, to be able to sense the man’s naked fingers on hers. What were they like? Rough? Soft? Full of war wounds?

She was surprised by her curiosity. A vague, new consciousness was growing within her. Perhaps she was… attracted to him, somehow? A mere word exchange had been enough to make her forget the argument about the alliance with the Mages?

She tried not to get distracted; she was reflecting too much. She swallowed with difficulty and gently hastened to fasten the girth’s straps.

“So… you wanted to go for a stroll, milady?” Cullen asked, while unfastening the dark leather lead line from the halter.

“Yes. I need to ride…” The sentence should have ended with “alone”, but then she met the warrior’s amber irises and thought that going for a stroll with _him_ wasn’t that bad at all.

“Well, I-I’d enjoy your company” she blurted out, remaining without air in her lungs. Where did she find the courage to ask him?

“Oh. Um–” She saw him frown, while he was focused on freeing the horse’s head from the halter. Evelyn bit her lower lip, hoping he wouldn’t refuse and that he hadn’t anything else to do.

“Me too” he said in a low voice, suggesting a bit of shyness. The smile he gave her while responding, filled her with joy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some days after the Inquisition allied with the Mages, the Herald of Andraste finally decides to go horse riding, so she can enjoy the snowy landscape of Haven. This turns out to be a good chance to spend some quality time with Commander Rutherford.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains an illustration I made. Clicking on the image you'll be directed to my deviantART account, if you want to take a look. Please don't use the picture without my permission, thank you! 
> 
> This story was originally written in Italian and then translated into English. Thank you very very much to Eravalefantasy for correcting the text! Also, thank you to my best friend (known as Lehira here on AO3) who always supports me. She encouraged me to start writing again.

[ ](http://elyhumanoid.deviantart.com/art/A-moment-of-peace-589073990)

 

Calypso and Altares’ hooves sank in the snow, their harnesses creaking and jingling at every step.

Fresh wind touched the faces of the two Inquisition agents, while snow covered the landscape, snowflake after snowflake. And only then the woman realized how wonderful it was to stroll in them.

“The Mages are ready to approach the Breach. I hope this will be enough to seal it.”

The Commander glanced at the huge, threatening laceration invading the sky.  The twenty-eight-year-old girl, for her part, was anxious: she really hoped the argument they had about the alliance wouldn’t crop up again. She wondered how he regarded her: what did he truly think of the Herald being  a mage? Was he disappointed, intimidated… did he feel _let down_?

“You weren’t happy with me bringing in the mages” she commented instinctively, her voice slightly thick with irony, although her chest started to bother her. She felt a faint tingling in her temples and a never-ending regret that had been persecuting her since she met the man at the stable.

“I have to ask you: have you any… problems with me too?” she blurted out that question with insecurity and felt a pang of regret. Then she looked at him with sadness, realizing he was talking about mages with coldness and distance once again.

She psychologically prepared herself to something similar to the glare he gave her at the war table, some days before… Instead, the Commander’s eyes were filled with understanding, but his face showed also the expression of someone who had been misunderstood.

“Of course not” he sighed. “I don’t want to compromise your alliance, but I _must_ guarantee the safety of those who live here. The same concern extends to mages: they risk their lives for the Inquisition, like you do. These precautions are taken just to help you, nothing else. I hope you’ll accept them as such.”

Trevelyan nodded, uncertain.  Guilt assailed her and she caught her breath. Perhaps, pronouncing those words was a burden to the ex-templar, who had probably decided to play nice. Now she was the one who was watching, torn, the abnormal hole in the clouds.

“Forgive me, I…” she looked at her left hand with distress, pulsating with magic. From the deep cut of green light, thin veins forked covering the whole palm and fingers, spreading through her forearm. Being aware of the fact that such a thing was literally anchored to her limb terrified and horrified her, but deep down it enthralled her. «I’m sorry.» She said eventually, with a heavy lump in her throat, her lips pressed together with great effort to keep from sobbing.

“I don’t want to let anyone down”, she kept repeating to herself. It had become an obsession; she wanted to bring peace, but who did really deserve such power like hers? She swallowed with difficulty and sighed trembling, and looking at an imaginary fixed point in front of her. She contained herself so much that Cullen couldn’t notice her suffering and that was what she wanted.

“You don’t need to apologize.” The Commander stopped Altares, capturing the woman’s attention, and sighed again. “I know what it means to carry your own’s soldiers lives on your shoulders… to be the only hope of salvation for almost all Thedas is even worse. Cassandra trusts you… as do I.” He added, observing the unpaved street, interrupted some meters ahead.

The man’s words slightly relieved discomfort that harbored in her heart. He trusted her. With that small awareness she felt that everything was going to be a little easier.

“Thank you” she answered with bashfulness, moving a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The feeling of her throat being all choked up slowly vanished. She had always tolerated critiques and bad judgments, ignoring them without taking too much offence.

 After the beginning of the Circles’ rebellion, something changed: the world outside of  the Tower of Ostwick was different from how she had imagined it. The memories of her childhood weren’t vivid enough and they lacked of a full awareness that it was a place often cruel and corrupt. Maybe it was that discovery triggered a great sense of self-preservation in her, of defense at all levels of her being? The contact with real life had been disarming. Was it possible that she forgot her six years of noble life so easily? Seeing the light of the sun filtering through the leaves of bloom trees, tasting fruit picked by her own hand, getting wet in the rain or snow… it was bliss.

Cullen’s face relaxed , while patting on the neck of his horse. “I suppose you don’t want to talk about war, at least not this afternoon.”

“Not really” she chucked, and got off the mount. The feet sank into the white mantle, digging two deep footprints.

“It’s a miracle our two friends here didn’t slip on this terrain” he commented, leaving the saddle to proceed by foot, like Evelyn did. They held the bridles tight in one hand, guiding the two horses.

“They’re extraordinary” the Herald replied, turning to caress Calypso’s muzzle. She rested her face against it. Altares came near to his owner, dampening Cullen’s cheeks with his nostril – the horse wished to receive the same attentions from his rider as the mare.

“Argh.” He cleaned himself with the back of his hand, making a funny face. “Sometimes he acts more like a mabari than a horse” he sighed, and satisfied him by tickling his head. In Rutherford’s eyes, great affection for the animal shone bright, the same feeling Trevelyan felt for Calypso. Her heart melted, and she looked at the sweet scene with fascination, until her gaze met Cullen’s. She broke the eye-contact almost immediately, focusing on a tiny plant of Elfroot, which was growing under a pine tree. She hitched the mare to a stocky, sturdy branch; she pulled a dagger out of a rear sheath hooked on the belt and leant over to sever the plant.

“Calypso has a unique taste. This morning I saw her chewing Embrium leaves. Master Dennet told me she eats them regularly…” she recounted and infected the blond-haired man with her smile, surprised and a bit entertained by that curiosity.

The ex-templar approached the tree, and hung the half blood’s bridle on it. He broke two small branches and took some pine needles and stored them in a little purse. She stole a glance at him, wondering about what he would do with them. Something told her the man loved surrounding himself of fine scents, like the one that had pleasantly captivated her senses some time before at the stable.

In that moment they heard a druffalo call and Evelyn stood up, hanging out of the tall tree to check its origin. She still had to get used to the free animals around her, starting with the numerous nugs. She swore that once she watched Leliana taking one in her arms and cradling it like it was a baby.

Speaking of the devil, the big bovine was chasing one of those little pink things, running in circles. In the meantime, a group of rams grazed on the remaining grass. Trevelyan was lost in her own thoughts for some seconds, until the courteous and velvety voice of the Commander brought her back to reality.

“Heral- _Evelyn_ ,” he corrected himself, then he cleared his throat and scratched the red tip of his nose. The big golden eyes of her looked at him, smiling. She was glad he had called her by name.

"I can see a cave down there, there could still be some iron ore left around here." He pointed at a dark rocky wall on their right. The mage nodded and followed him, giving a quick glance at the two horses, before walking away: the destination was only a few meters away and from there they would have been able to watch over them with ease.

 “They will be all right” the man reassured her, a half smile on his lips, adorned with the scar. The young lady had wondered more than once how he had received it.

 As for her, during the twenty-two years spent at the Circle of Magi, she had her own received while training with magic, but she ended up far more injured after she left the Tower. Now  she was compelled to put her knowledge in practice to survive. She was a soldier, like the rest gathered here, with the difference that no one had a demonic mark on a hand.

“We should mark this spot on the map…” she said, looking for the latter in the pages of the tome she carried secured on her belt. The man was about to answer her, when the two realized that the poor nug behind them had started to squeak desperately, running in their direction. Of course the giant was going after him.

“Oh no!” was everything Evelyn could manage, she was paralyzed with her hand on the book. The ex-templar was talking to her, but she was too distracted by that scene to listen to him.

“Ehm…” she gave him a tap on his pauldrons to draw his attention.

While the druffalo mooed and prepared to charge, Evelyn saw the little pink animal darted near her, then disappeared in the cave. In that moment, three other druffalos appeared from behind a big rock, following the one who was probably their pack leader.

“Um?” Cullen frowned, as soon as he saw a small herd was dangerously approaching.

“Andras-” he didn’t finish the sentence, compelled to run away together with Trevelyan, who had instinctively taken _his hand_. The group of animals narrowly missed them, and grouped in front of the cavern. 

The two continued to run with little difficulty on the snowy ground, until they reached a rocky wall. The mage realised only then that she was holding his gloved hand. She blushed and let it slowly go, once they stopped. The Commander was attempting to catch his breath, slightly bent over, a hand on his knee. For the first time she saw him laughing in de light, while small lines wrinkled the edges of his amber eyes. A corn silk curl fell on his forehead as he looked at Evelyn, collapsing against the dark slippery wall. She opened her lips, more red than usual due to the cold, on which she painted a smile. Soon she let herself succumb to the uproarious burst of laughter, making her forget the tension, which was a constant among her sensations.

Cullen cleared his throat, scratching his head and wiping away an invisible tear caused by the comical situation. 

“I believe that the exploration of the cave can wait” he murmured with velvety and placid voice.

The wind ruffled their hair a little, while the snowflakes shone on their clothes. 

“My stroll too, I suppose” she said, shrugging. They hadn’t ridden much, but it wasn’t important at that time. The company of the Commander turned out to be _more than pleasant_. 

“It is not yet too late” the man answered, offering her an arm. Trevelyan looked at him with a timid smile, but she was radiant inside, happy about the proposal. Cullen Rutherford kept surprising her, moving her even only with small gestures. A few gazes, the contact with his hands and his gentle voice had been enough to make those hours spent together special. Who would have thought it?

Evelyn gave him the arm, whispering a sincere “Thank you”. She trembled a bit, perhaps for the cold, perhaps for the emotion. The ex-templar was strong and he instilled safety, a sense of protection. 

Suddenly, she was suffering from a shooting pain in her left hand. 

It was the _Mark_. 

Since her awakening at Haven it had stopped hurting, excluding rare and aggressive ache. She clenched her jaw and her fist, hoping to attenuate the suffering, while a heavy knot formed in her throat again. Her nose burned so much that now her eyes were bright with tears and, instinctively, she drew close to him, as to seek comfort. 

“Are you cold, milady?” Cullen asked, turning around to check the reason of her slowing down. 

“No, I’m fine.” Evelyn attempted to lie, her hand pressed against her chest, but the unstable voice betrayed her.

The blond-haired man stopped, planting himself in front of her. The mage was panicking, her lips white due to fear, the discouragement and the freezing cold that was getting in her bones.

“Milady… _Evelyn_ ” he tried again, the voice even softer than before, almost imperceptible.

She tried to avoid his eyes, but the calling of this _voice_ was stronger than her own will. Eventually her big golden eyes met his, of a similar color.

Trevelyan tried to smile, but her heart beat so fast that her chest hurt. 

“You’re not very good at lying…” he smiled, without stopping to watch her, and managed to extort a weak, nervous laugh. “It’s that… Mark, isn’t it?” he became serious again, as she nodded with visible bitterness and sniffed. 

“May I?” he asked with the same kindness he addressed to Altares, the first time he saw him, and almost with a hint of curiosity for that strange kind of magic. 

Evelyn hesitated, staring at him for a few seconds, while he was taking off his gloves and offered her a hand. Then, slowly, she stretched out hers, trembling, towards his. She was immediately surprised by the warmth it emanated and swallowed with difficulty, and she finally could feel the hands of the ex/templar on hers. His touch was delicate and gentle. She could not help watching them in fascination and amazement: no matter how rough they were, marked by scratches and scars, she found them extremely beautiful. The fingers were long, elegant but masculine and callous at the same time. 

She looked at his focused expression and a shudder coursed up her spine, while he touched, with shyness, almost nervous, the veins of her hand the same color of the fade. 

Their faces were illuminated by vivid and pulsing light coming from the Mark and the expression of the Commander got even more thoughtful and compassionate. 

“I’m sorry. I wish I could do something for you” he murmured, chaining his gaze to Trevelyan’s.  She blinked repeatedly and tried to fight back the tears, which were soon to overflow from her eyes. 

“You are… already doing something” she told him with a whisper. A tear travelled down her cheek and she wiped it quickly away with the back of her right hand, covered by the glove of cold leather, hoping that the man didn’t notice – even if it was obvious he didn’t. 

He gave her a affectionate smile and pulled out a cotton handkerchief, giving it to her. She pronounced a soft “Thank you”, once again touched by his pleasantness. She rubbed it on the cheekbone, leaving it pressed while another rebel tear slipped through the light freckles. She folded the soft fabric in four, sniffing, and smiled at the man as he offered his arm again, sharing with her his cloak.

_The pain stopped._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I thought that an image representing a [saddle](http://www.western-saddle-guide.com/images/parts-labels2.jpg) would be useful :D


End file.
